else was possible."

I laughed a quick little laugh of triumph. "No, sir; NOT dead.
Recovering! She has fallen just now into a normal sleep; her breathing
is natural."

He wheeled his revolving chair away from the germs and fixed me with his
keen eyes. "Recovering?" he echoed. "Impossible! Rallying, you mean. A
mere flicker. I know my trade. She MUST die this evening."

"Forgive my persistence," I replied; "but--her temperature has gone down
to ninety-nine and a trifle."

He pushed away the bacilli in the nearest watch-glass quite angrily. "To
ninety-nine!" he exclaimed, knitting his brows. "Cumberledge, this is
disgraceful! A most disappointing case! A most provoking patient!"

"But surely, sir--" I cried.

"Don't talk to ME, boy! Don't attempt to apologise for her. Such conduct
is unpardonable. She OUGHT to have died. It was her clear duty. I SAID
she would die, and she should have known better than to fly in the face
of the faculty. Her recovery is an insult to medical science. What is
the staff about? Nurse Wade should have prevented it."

"Still, sir," I exclaimed, trying to touch him on a tender spot, "the
anaesthetic, you know! Such a triumph for lethodyne! This case shows
clearly that on certain constitutions it may be used with advantage
under certain conditions."